


Fitzing People Up

by Lalalli



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, March Madness Fic Tournament, Non-SHIELD AU, Online Dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:00:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalalli/pseuds/Lalalli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz develops a wildly successful matchmaking formula that’s soon the talk of the town among the single and lonely. But when his latest client Jemma Simmons keeps turning down compatible suitors, Fitz devotes himself to ensuring that she finds her match.</p><p>*Continued from Pi's March Madness Fic Tournament!*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So...I was so obsessed with this during the fic tournament that I just couldn't let it die. Let it be known that I am following Pi's general outline for the fic, so this IS where she would've taken things, if it had won. I hope I can do it justice :)
> 
> I was going to wait until I had the whole thing written before I started posting it, but I got a little (read: A LOT) too excited, so I'm posting it in installments instead. But I DO have at least five (short) chapters written, so...yay?

Fitz glanced at his watch again before scanning the crowded pub for Mack, who had left to get a round of beers five minutes ago and had yet to return. Next to him, Hunter groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Fitz asked.

Bobbi plopped into the seat across from him, a whirlwind of long limbs and blonde hair.

“Oh,” Fitz said. That explains it.

Bobbi folded her arms on the sticky table and leaned forward, shoulders shimmying with barely- contained excitement. “Guess what the latest rumor on campus is.”

“That you and Hunter are hooking up?” Fitz guessed.

Bobbi wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, no. Also - no.”

Hunter raised his head and frowned. “Hurtful.”

Bobbi ignored him and waggled her eyebrows. “Well, you know how I was out last week for that conference?” She looked up as Mack arrived at the table and passed the beers around. “Thank you.” She turned back to Fitz and Hunter. “Anyways, I overheard some of my students theorizing that I was gone because I secretly work for the CIA as a Russian spy.” She gleefully drummed on the table with both hands and leaned back in the booth. “I’m pretty badass.”

“Except you’re not a Russian spy,” Mack reminded Bobbi as he slid into the booth next to her.

Bobbi reached across the table to snag a fry from Hunter’s plate. “But my students don’t know that. To them, I’m Dr. Morse, World Civilizations professor by day, Russian spy by night. I’m like Indiana Jones, but awesomer.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “But enough about me.”

Hunter snorted into his beer.

Bobbi briefly narrowed her eyes at him before turning to Mack. “How was the date Saturday night?”

Mack frowned. “Not good. We had literally nothing in common. I took her to see Raiders of the Lost Shark - and she said it was _stupid_!”

Bobbi gasped in dismay. 

“What?!” Hunter and Fitz shouted, incensed.

Mack groaned. “And that’s not even the worst of it. I asked her what kind of movies she preferred - and she said her favorite movie is The Cutting Edge 3!”

Bobbi wrinkled her brow in confusion. “There’s a Cutting Edge 3?”

“There’s a Cutting Edge _Two_?” Hunter asked in disbelief.

Mack sighed heavily. “I’m telling you guys - it’s hard to find someone to date who you’re actually compatible with.”

Fitz frowned. That couldn’t possibly be true, could it? Maybe the problem wasn’t that perfect matches don’t exist. Maybe the problem is that everyone looks for their match randomly, instead of doing what Fitz did best - searching methodically, using available information to its best advantage.

Fitz straightened in his seat. “Actually…” He slid one of Mack’s napkins towards him from across the table and dug a pen out of his pocket. He started scribbling furiously on the napkin, mumbling to himself, “If you take into account common interests, congruous temperaments, corresponding values and life goals…” Fitz looked up at his friends and grinned. “I think I have an idea.”

\-----------------------

_Six weeks later…_

Fitz’s head jerked up at the sound of Hunter slamming the front door behind him as he burst into their shared flat. “Your algorithm is rubbish, mate.”

Fitz wrinkled his nose. “What are you-”

Hunter flopped onto the couch next to him. “It matched me up with Bobbi, Fitz! _Bobbi!_ ”

Fitz frowned. “But you _are_ seeing Bobbi…”

Hunter slapped an open palm over his face. “Yeah, and if you were a true mate, you would be trying to talk me out of it, not encouraging me! It’s clearly a disaster in the making!”

Fitz opened his mouth to argue, but then snapped it shut as he considered the implication of what Hunter was saying. “How did you even access my program?” Fitz asked. “I only made it available to my Comp Sci students to take for extra credit so I could work out the bugs.”

Hunter dropped his hand and furrowed his brow. “You mean you don’t know?”

Fitz shook his head. “Know what?”

“Fitz, the entire school has taken it by now - including faculty and staff!”

Fitz gaped at him. “What? Why?”

Hunter shrugged. “Because it’s effective, apparently. People are coupling up all over. Mack is even going on a second date with that Spanish professor - Rodriguez, I think?”

Fitz felt like the room was spinning around him. He abruptly stood up. “Laptop. Where’s my laptop?” He stalked into the kitchen, searching the counters and opening the oven, before making a lap around their dining room table.

Hunter looked at Fitz as though he had grown an extra head. “It’s right here. On the coffee table.”

“Right,” Fitz told himself. “Right.” He walked back to the couch and sat back down next to Hunter. He reached forward and opened his laptop, logging into his program to check the user data. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw the number of profiles that had been made. Not only had the entire university made profiles, the entire city was using his program.

“You should think about monetizing,” Hunter said, looking over Fitz’s shoulder at the computer screen. “Charge people for subscriptions, or something.”

Fitz looked at Hunter, eyes wide with surprise. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Well, don’t sound so shocked about it.”

Fitz shook his head distractedly. “Can you get me a beer from the fridge?” Fitz asked, as he rolled up his sleeves. He stretched out his fingers and placed them on the computer keys. “I have a busy night ahead of me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My cable crapped out on me tonight, which means that I can't watch AOS :( This also means I will be avoiding Tumblr for the forseeable future. 
> 
> This ALSO means that I am devoting my night to fanfic. Enjoy this chapter!

Dear Dr. L. Fitz,

I have been using your dating service, More Than That, for some time now in hopes of finding a suitable partner. It is well-known that the success and popularity of your service lies in the algorithm you created - in fact, I am acquainted with a good number of people who have successfully entered into happy and stable relationships because of your service.

It pains me to confess that I have not been able to find similar success in my dating endeavors. I thought that finding a person to date would be fairly simple, seeing as I’m a nubile young prodigy with an above-average fashion sense. Unfortunately, all of my matches thus far, while boasting low body fat percentages and symmetrical faces, have been both uninteresting and uninterested.

I wonder if I might take a look at your algorithm to see if I might gain some insight as to why it seems to be incapable of finding me a decent match when it seems to work successfully on everyone else. It’s not that I think that the problem is in your algorithm, mind you - it’s just that as a scientist, I need to look at all possible variables. I’m sure your algorithm is more than adequate; however, I am certain you understand that it is just as important to rule out possible problems as it is to identify the correct solution.

I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Sincerely,

Dr. Jemma Simmons

\--------------

Jemma flopped on the couch and swiped a slice of pizza from the open box in front of Daisy. “Food,” she sighed happily.

Daisy wrinkled her nose. “Didn’t you go to dinner with your date?” she asked.

Jemma slumped in her seat. “We did, but he took me to this molecular gastronomy restaurant.” She groaned. “It was foam, Daisy. Dinner was arugula-flavored _foam_. I’ve never been so hangry in my life!”

Daisy offered Jemma her most reassuring smile. “Well, at least this one sounds interesting, if restaurant choice is anything to go by?”

Jemma shook her head. “Actually, food preferences notwithstanding, this one was just as boring as the others.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe you’re getting matched with boring people because your profile is boring, too.”

Jemma’s glare was equal parts offended and hurt. “I’m not boring!”

Daisy shook her head. “Of course I don’t think _you’re_ boring! You’re awesome! But you only put information and pictures from _work_ in there!” Daisy leaned sideways and nudged Jemma’s arm with her shoulder. “Come on. Let me liven it up a little bit. Make it a little more fun.”

Jemma rose to her feet. “My profile is fine the way it is,” she huffed as she walked into her room and closed the door behind her. A split second later, she walked back out and grabbed one more slice of pizza from the coffee table. “And I’m taking this with me,” she informed Daisy haughtily before flouncing back into her room and slamming the door behind her.

Daisy grabbed her laptop off the coffee table and plopped it onto her folded legs. She pushed aside nagging feelings of guilt as she logged into Jemma’s account. If Jemma was going to take two slices of her pizza without asking, then surely, Daisy was allowed to make a few tiny changes to her profile.

Really, it was for her own good.

\----------------

Dear Dr. Jemma Simmons,

Attached you will find the algorithm, as you requested. If you find something problematic, I do hope you will let me know. I’ve actually been hoping for a second pair of eyes to help me work out any potential bugs, so in a way, you are doing me a favor.

I apologize that you have not found success with my program. I will review both your profile and the profiles of your previous matches to assess what went wrong. In addition, I will manually run your next match through the algorithm to ensure that no glitches occur in the future.

I hope this is an adequate solution for the time being. I thank you for your continued use of More Than That. If you have any further questions, please let me know.

Sincerely,

Dr. L. Fitz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't know, hangry = so hungry you're angry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you'll recognize most of this as Pi's work, but there are new additions too!

Dear Dr. L. Fitz,

I regret that I must once again contact you in order to inform you of a mismatch.

Please do understand that I only do this because the mismatch is so extreme and yet your algorithm, from the parts of it I have been able to inspect, seems to be more than up to the task of finding me someone I can at least have a reasonable dinner out with.

Such was not the case with my most recent match: Will Daniels.

Not only was he not at all interested in science, a topic near and dear to my heart both professionally and personally, he was also a survivalist. I have no idea which of my answers could have possibly led to your algorithm matching us together, but I request the opportunity to examine my file so that I can remedy any errors before using your service again.

I look forward to hearing from you in the affirmative.

Sincerely,

Dr. Jemma Simmons

———

Fitz frowned at his customer’s email in consternation as he read about yet another failed date.

She certainly was the exception to prove the rule.

His dating algorithm had had such unbelievable results that he actually boasted a 99% success rate for his matches. She was the only thing keeping him from having 100%.

With the frown deepening on his face, he pulled up her file one more time: the unmatchable Jemma Simmons.

Honestly, he had the whole thing memorized at this point, and it was a study in contradictions. One paragraph was full of somewhat formal prose, rather like her email to him, and full of hints that she might be from his side of the pond. The next was full of flirting and slang and pop culture references that he didn’t understand at all.

And the photographs! No wonder she was getting so much interest. Beyond the rather pretty if unremarkable headshot of her smiling in the sunlight in front of a tree somewhere, there were also a few full-length photos of her at events and what looked like presentations. It was the last two that explained the traffic though: lounging at the beach, toned limbs stretched out, water droplets glittering on the considerable amount of skin on display, wet hair slicked back from her face…

He quickly closed the window before he got caught staring at her like a lech. He brought up her e-mail again and clicked on ‘Reply.’

—————

Jemma ground her teeth together as her call rang for the third time.

“Pick up,” she whispered impatiently, but it went to voicemail instead.

With a growl of frustration, she hung up and texted, “Your phone is never more than a foot from your hand. I know you saw my number. Screening my calls is only going to make me madder.”

“Hello?” she said shortly, answering on the first ring.

“Jemma, I can expla-”

“Cave-diving in Australia?” Jemma interrupted, staring at her answers on the screen in front of her. “What were you thinking, Daisy?”

When Jemma had first seen which of her answers had been supposedly compatible with Will’s, she thought there had been some sort of mistake - that someone else’s profile had gotten mixed up with hers. But when she checked to cross-reference her responses in the report that Dr. Fitz had sent her with the responses on her actual profile, she was mortified to discover that those were the actual words that she had supposedly written.

“What I was thinking was that there’s more to you than work!” Daisy exclaimed. “Come on, Jemma - you’re more fun than this! Don’t you remember all our bad girl shenanigans?”

Jemma huffed in frustration. “Okay, so I did the skydiving thing _once_ , but that was just to impress you!”

“Well, I was thinking more along the lines of that time with the security guard -”

“Oh God, no - don’t say it!” Jemma interrupted, her voice squeaking. “I think we can all agree that was just a huge misunderstanding!”

Daisy’s voice softened. “Look, I just want you to find someone you can be happy with, okay? I get sad when you come home all disappointed and discouraged and what not.”

Jemma took a deep breath. “I know, Daisy. But did you really have to put up those pictures of me in that string bikini?”

“Um, of course I did? You look hot in those!”

Jemma wrinkled her nose. “I look like a tart.”

“Well, I happen to think that tarts are delicious,” Daisy quipped.

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m changing it back, okay? And I’m changing my password too, so don’t even think about logging into my account again.”

“Fiiine,” Daisy groaned. “But don’t come crying to me when your next date bores you to literal tears again. Gotta go.”

“See you later,” Jemma sighed as she hung up. She turned back to her computer screen. Well, time to give her ‘delete’ key a workout.


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Dr. L. Fitz,

I unfortunately must inform you of yet another mismatch. While I was pleased that Elliot Randolph also worked in the field of research and academia (at least enough so that I was willing to meet him despite the 30-year age gap), he did not seem interested in talking about our common interests and achievements. Instead, he spent the entire evening talking about his favorite RPG game based on Asgardian mythology. He seemed particularly fixated on obtaining some sort of large staff, which my roommate thinks seems to indicate that he is attempting to compensate for something he is sorely lacking.

I have edited my profile a number of times in hopes of finding someone better suited to me. I wonder if you might be willing to assist me in revising my profile once more so that I might be able to help you boost your success rate from 99% to 100%.

Regards,

Dr. Jemma Simmons

\-------------

Dear Dr. Jemma Simmons,

I would be happy to assist you in revising your profile. I think one thing that might help would be to include information about what you do during your free time. Do you have any hobbies? What do you enjoy doing when you’re not working?

Sincerely,

Dr. L. Fitz

PS: Saying RPG game is like saying Role-Playing Game game. It’s a bit redundant. In the future, you can just refer to it as RPG.

PPS: Sorry if that seemed overly-pedantic.

\------------

Dear Dr. L. Fitz,

I require your assurance that I was matched with Daniel Whitehall based on similar levels of ambition because I would be distraught if we had anything other than that in common. Halfway through our meal, it became quite clear to me that he is a raging sociopath. Apparently, he is a Nazi sympathizer, which I don’t recall seeing anywhere on his profile. I am quite perturbed, Dr. Fitz - if I was paired with him, what does that say about me?

In response to your previous e-mail, I edited my profile to reflect that I enjoy watching movies in my free time. I recently went to the cinema with my roommate to watch the newest Star Sharks movie (The Shark Awakens). It was good, if not a bit derivative of the original trilogy.

Regards,

Dr. Jemma Simmons

P.S. It did seem a bit pedantic, but I didn’t mind.

\----------

Dear Dr. Jemma Simmons,

Perhaps the reason you were paired with Daniel Whitehall is because your profile clearly states that you are unapologetically racist? I am joking, of course. I assure you that if any of Dr. Whitehall’s survey responses reflected his true beliefs in the slightest, there would have been no way he would have been paired with you, much less any other user on this site. As it is, I’m putting a red flag on his profile.

I find that most users enjoy watching movies - I’m not sure if stating so would do anything to narrow your scope of potential matches. Is there perhaps a genre you prefer? I take it from your movie choice that you enjoy science fiction. It might be helpful to specify. You might also consider listing some of your favourites: favourite food, favourite colour, favourite season, and so forth.

Regards,

Dr. L. Fitz

P.S. I quite enjoyed The Shark Awakens, but I think my favourite will always be The Empire Sharks Back. Have you seen Batshark vs. Supershark? It got terrible reviews, but I found that I liked it. I certainly didn’t think it was completely deserving of all the criticism it received.

\---------------

Dear Dr. L. Fitz,

I’m not sure when the last time you looked at my profile was, but I’ve listed a multitude of my favourites from the very beginning - for example, alphaproteobacteria are my favourite prokaryotes, honeysuckle is my favourite deciduous shrub, and so forth.

I have not seen Batshark vs. Supershark. I must confess that the bad reviews succeeded in scaring me off. I think the last DC movie I saw was Batshark: The Shark Knight Rises. But then again, I’m not a huge fan of DC. I’m partial to Marvel, myself.

In regards to my most recent - 

“Who are you texting?” Bobbi asked, snatching Fitz’s phone away from him before he could close Dr. Simmons’s most recent e-mail.

“No one! Give that back!” Fitz demanded.

Bobbi’s grin widened as her eyes continued to flicker over the screen of his phone. “Fitz! Do you have a girlfriend?” she teased.

Fitz reached across the table and snatched the phone back from her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s his new pen pal,” Hunter explained, arriving at their usual booth with a round of beers. “He spends all bloody day talking about her.” He slid into the seat next to Bobbi and tentatively rested his arm across her shoulders. When she didn’t immediately shrug it off, he smiled, pleased with himself, and took a swig of beer.

“I do not!” Fitz protested.

“Oh, Hunter, Dr. Simmons rejected yet another match!” Hunter recited in an awful Scottish accent. “Said he was too boring. Well, how am I supposed to find someone smart enough for her? It’s not my fault that she’s the cleverest person on the face of the planet!”

“I didn’t say that!” Fitz complained, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Though that didn’t mean he didn’t think it was true.

“Well, I know one person who’s clever enough for her,” Hunter hinted, wiggling his eyebrows.

Fitz resisted the urge to reach over and wipe that smug smile off his face. “Not this again,” he groaned.

Bobbi gasped, smiling at Hunter. “That’s actually a good idea!”

Hunter scowled. “Why does everyone always act so surprised when I have good ideas?”

Bobbi leaned forward. “Fitz! You have to ask her out! You’d be perfect for each other!”

Fitz furrowed his brow. “Based on what? You don’t even know her!”

Bobbi snatched Fitz’s phone and shoved the screen into his face. “Based on the fact that you’ve been e-mailing back and forth every day for the past two months and you haven’t seemed to have gotten bored of each other yet!”

Fitz grabbed his phone and stuffed it into his back pocket. “I’m just trying to provide good customer service,” he muttered.

Hunter and Bobbi exchanged knowing looks before bursting into laughter. “Yeah, I bet you’ll service her good!” Hunter choked out.

Fitz slid out of his seat and rose to his feet. “Don’t be gross.”

“Where are you going?” Mack asked, his arms full of plates of chips and mozzarella sticks, as Fitz passed him on his way back to their booth.

“Bathroom,” Fitz muttered. Apparently, it’s the only place in this pub that he’ll be able to read Dr. Simmons’s e-mail in peace.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma thinks she might like to get to know Fitz a bit better. Hunter wonders why Fitz doesn't have a profile.

Dear Simmons,

I am sorry to hear that your date with Jasper Sitwell went so poorly. I am usually sympathetic towards animal rights activists, but I do agree that breaking into a research facility is not the most _legal_ of first dates. At least it was Roxxon and not SciTech? It might’ve been awkward (well, _more_ awkward) if he took you to break into your own place of employment.

To answer your question, no, I can’t say I have ever tried tabbouleh. I don’t have the most adventurous of palates. I prefer to stick to foods that are guaranteed to be delicious: burgers, chips, waffles, pizza...I mean, say what you will about Little Caesars - at the end of the day, it’s pizza, and bad pizza is still better than mediocre anything else.

I noticed that you added baking to your list of hobbies. Do you have a favorite thing to bake? I don’t bake much, but I used to bake pies with my mum every autumn. What’s nice about making pies is that even if it comes out lopsided and deformed, you can just call it “rustic” and it holds its appeal. I find you can’t do that with biscuits and cakes.

As an aside, I had the pleasure of reading your article on dendrotoxins today in the most recent publication of Journal of Bioorganic Chemistry. I found it to be quite fascinating. If you have the time, I wonder if you might clarify a few things for me?

Sincerely,

Fitz

\----------------

Jemma smiled as she read through Fitz’s e-mail, immediately clicking on “Reply.” Lately, she’s been looking forward to Fitz’s e-mails more than going on dates with potential matches.

In fact, during her date earlier that evening with Seth, Jemma found herself tuning him out in favor of mentally composing her next e-mail to Fitz. What could she tell him about? Seth’s constant reminders that he’s “a nice guy” (which, from Jemma’s experience, means that he is most decidedly NOT a nice guy) and his complaints that all other female acquaintances only go for arrogant jerks? The fact that he’s actually bragging about getting through uni without reading a single book?

Jemma was so disinterested in all her dates that she was starting to wonder if the person she might really want to go on a date with was _Fitz_.

After composing most of her e-mail, Jemma took a deep breath and wrote a rather forward hint that she would like to get to know him better.

Jemma bit her bottom lip as she signed off and clicked “Send.” If he’s interested at all, he’ll hopefully be able to read between the lines. And if he’s not interested...well, there’s a lovely rock at the park that she can crawl under.

\-------------

Dear Fitz,

Why do some men think that being a decent human being entitles them to my undying gratitude and access to second base? And why do some people take pride in skating through life without even trying? My most recent match actually earned a degree using the combined power of Wikipedia and Sparknotes. I can’t imagine not wanting to learn and discover as much as I absolutely can. I suppose that’s why I went into science - to solve the mysteries of the world around me. I’m sure you understand - after all, you solved the mystery of what makes people click. It’s quite the extraordinary accomplishment.

I find that I bake more for others than I do for myself. My favorite thing to make are birthday cakes. I like the methodical work that goes into it - the measuring, the leveling, the filling, the frosting, the decorating. Also, the end result seems to make other people happy, so it makes me happy as well. Ironically, I do not like eating cake. Well, let me amend that. I do not like eating frosting. I find it to be much too cloying and sweet. I like eating cake on its own, although it is a bit boring compared to the chewy gooeyness of brownies or the crisp snap of a well-made biscuit. I should make pies more often. Just reading about your pies fills me with a sense of comfort and homeyness.

I would be thrilled to answer your questions about my research. Please send them my way!

Do you have a profile? I wonder if I might be able to take a look at it - just so I can see how it should be done, of course. I’d like to make further improvements to my profile.

Sincerely,

Simmons

\---------------------

“Why do you have that look on your face?” Hunter asked.

“Huh?” Fitz asked absentmindedly, deleting and re-writing his response for the fifth time that evening.

Hunter leaned over Fitz’s shoulder. “Why _don’t_ you have a profile?” he asked, skimming over Simmons’s e-mail.

Fitz pushed Hunter’s face away from his. “Bugger off, Hunter!”

Hunter rolled his eyes as he walked back to the kitchen counter. “Someone’s sensitive today,” he muttered. “Look,” he said more loudly, opening the fridge to take out a bottle of beer. “I’m just saying - you have this amazing tool at your disposal that _you_ created!” He leaned against the counter and gestured towards Fitz with his bottle. “You! Why can’t you use it to find love for yourself?”

Fitz ran a hand through his hair and slumped back in his seat. “Because it would be unethical. I have access to all this data - what if I were to use it to respond in a way that would match myself up with whoever I wanted? It would be dishonest.”

“But you wouldn’t do that,” Hunter reminded him.

“Not consciously.” Fitz rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “But what if I’m thinking about someone so much that I can’t help but align my answers to hers, just because I like her? It wouldn’t be a conscious decision, but it would still be dishonest - to myself as much as it is to her.” He twisted in his seat to look at Hunter. “Plus, even if I did answer honestly, if people knew that I’m the one who designed the program, isn’t that what they would automatically think? That I’m taking advantage of my access to all this information to get myself a date?”

Hunter shook his head. “You’re overthinking it, mate.”

Fitz turned back to his laptop and finished his e-mail before Hunter could convince him otherwise. “No,” Fitz disagreed, clicking ‘Send.’ “I’m not.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and Hunter meddle. Jemma gets an intriguing new match. These two things may or may not be related ;)

Dear Simmons,

Your most recent date sounded like a right arsehole. From the stories you’ve been telling me, I’m amazed that the success rate of my algorithm is as high as it is. Surely, some of these blokes would be unmatchable?

You give me far too much credit. More Than That is hardly an extraordinary accomplishment. I didn’t really set out to be a matchmaker and I certainly didn’t expect it to become so popular. The algorithm is just something I came up with after my friend made a comment about it being difficult to find someone compatible to date - I wanted to show him that it’s really not impossible. Finding someone you get on with is really about looking in the right place.

I am envious that your friends receive homemade birthday cakes from you. For my last birthday, my mate Hunter got me half a package of Oreos. It would have been an entire package, but he got peckish on the way back from the grocery store. As a side note, I happen to think that frosting is the best part of cake. Have you ever been to Sugar High? They have these amazing cupcakes that are topped with just enormous piles of frosting. The cupcakes themselves are delicious as well. My favorite is the peanut butter cup, but if I had to take a wild guess based on what I know about you, I think you might enjoy the berry lavender cupcake. You can scrape off the frosting before eating it and send it my way.

In response to your request, I do not have a profile. I admit that I’ve thought about creating one; however, I just don’t think it would be appropriate under my circumstances. But you honestly don’t need to look at anyone else’s profile - just be yourself!

I really feel awful for turning down your request when you so graciously agreed to answer my questions about your article. If you are still willing to answer my questions, I’ve attached them in a separate document. That way, if you’ve changed your mind, you don’t even have to look at them.

Sincerely,

Fitz

Jemma tried her best to focus as she scanned through Fitz’s questions, but her eyes kept straying to the penultimate paragraph of his e-mail. _I just don’t think it would be appropriate under my circumstances._ What is that supposed to mean?

She looked helplessly at Daisy, who was sitting cross-legged in their bright red armchair with her laptop resting in the cradle of her legs. Jemma sighed loudly. Daisy continued to squint at her screen, brow furrowed and shoulders hunched forward, much too absorbed in her work to notice Jemma’s predicament.

Jemma slumped on the sofa and grabbed a throw pillow, covering her face and groaning into it.

“Please don’t suffocate yourself,” Daisy requested without looking up from her laptop, her fingers still flying over the keyboard. “I’m on a very tight deadline and I don’t have the time to undergo police questioning.”

Jemma removed the pillow from her face and hugged it to her chest, looking up at the ceiling. “If - hypothetically, mind you - someone were to say they don’t have a profile on More Than That because, and I quote, ‘it wouldn’t be appropriate under the circumstances,’ what would that signify to you? Do you think he’s married? Or maybe he’s just not interested in me. Or dating in general.”

Daisy scrunched her nose. “Why don’t you just ask Dr. Fitz out? Using your actual words, I mean.”

Jemma narrowed her eyes at her. “This isn’t about Fitz - I’m speaking hypothetically.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Well, _hypothetically_ , you should ask this hypothetical person out on a hypothetical date.”

Jemma suddenly gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. “What if the reason he _can’t_ enter into a hypothetical relationship is because he has an untreatable disease and he hypothetically has only three months to live?” She looked out the window, lower lip trembling and unshed tears shining in her eyes. “What if he’s hypothetically _dying_? That would be terrible!”

Daisy shook her head and groaned. “Oh my God, I told you that Nicholas Sharks marathon was a bad idea! No one should ever follow up A Shark to Remember with The Last Shark!” She reached over and covered Jemma’s hand with her own. “Simmons, you need to pull yourself together. Do you even hear yourself right now?”

Jemma pressed her lips tightly together and gave Daisy a determined nod. “You’re right. I am a strong, independent woman who is perfectly capable of getting herself a date with someone who is not married or dying.”

Daisy grimaced. “Not quite what I was saying, but you know what? That’s okay. Let’s just go with that.”

Jemma sprung to her feet. “Who cares if he hypothetically doesn’t want to date me?” She pointed to their door. “I am going out there and I am going to live my best life now!”

Daisy watched as Jemma strode purposefully to the front door, shoulders squared back and head held high with determination. “Where are you going?” she asked.

Jemma’s voice rang out with steely resolve. “To buy a cupcake!”

\-------------------------------

“I think he would say five.”

“No, no - it’s a definite four. I mean, sure, his office is spotless, but I live with the guy. He treats his bedroom floor like the biggest shelf in the flat!”

“Shoot - he’s coming! Submit! Submit!”

Fitz slid into the booth across from Hunter and Bobbi. “What’re you doing? And why did you bring your laptop to the pub?”

Hunter quickly snapped the laptop shut. “Nothing! I didn’t!”

Fitz looked pointedly at his laptop.

Hunter drummed his fingers on the table. “Well, why did _you_ bring _your face_ to the pub? Huh?”

Bobbi rolled her eyes. “Real slick. See, that’s why I told you to let me do all the talking. I don’t crack under pressure. That’s what makes me such a great spy.”

“You’re not a spy,” Fitz reminded her.

“Right,” Bobbi nodded, a serious look on her face. “Of course not.” She winked at him.

Fitz furrowed his brow. “Why are you winking?”

Bobbi winked again.

“Stop that!” Fitz looked at Hunter. “Why is she doing that? Why won’t she stop winking?”

Hunter slammed his open palms on the table. “Fine! I’ll tell you!”

Bobbi shook her head and looked up at the ceiling.

“We made you a More Than That profile!” Hunter shouted. “Are you happy now?”

Fitz gaped at Hunter. “You did _what_?”

Bobbi sighed long-sufferingly. “Look, you haven’t been on a date in what? Two years? And this Dr. Simmons is the most excited we’ve seen you get about a woman in a really long time.”

“I wouldn’t say excited,” Fitz mumbled, scratching behind his ear. “More like frustrated.”

Bobbi opened the laptop and turned it to face him. “Well, we just took the survey for you, and look who you got matched up with.”

“You registered me as _Leopold_? I thought we were friends!” Fitz complained.

Bobbi huffed in exasperation. “You’re missing the point! Look!” She pointed at the picture of the smiling brunette on the screen. “95% compatibility! Don’t tell me that’s not a sign.”

“There’s no way we’d get matched up,” Fitz insisted. “She’s very particular about who she dates - she just picks them all apart. I should know - I get the full report of every person’s faults.” He scanned through his profile. “See, this!” Fitz gestured towards the computer screen and sighed. “What even is this? There’s no way I’d say that!” He looked up at Hunter and Bobbi. “This is all wrong! You were clearly trying to answer in a way that would match us up. If I took the survey myself, our compatibility score would be nowhere near as high.”

Bobbi folded her arm on the table and leaned forward. “Then prove it. Fix your answers.”

Fitz narrowed his eyes at Bobbi. “Fine. Maybe I will.”

“And _when_ you get matched, you’re going to ask her on a date,” Hunter added.

Fitz rolled his eyes. “That won’t be an issue. There’s no way we’re getting matched.”

\----------------------

Jemma was almost done typing her responses to Fitz’s questions when she heard a ping notifying her to a new e-mail. She switched back to her inbox to find a new automated message from More Than That: _You have a match!_

Jemma raised an eyebrow as she skimmed through the e-mail. 98.7%? She’d never gotten a compatibility rating that high before. She opened her match’s profile and smiled as it revealed bright blue eyes and blonde stubble dotting a chiseled jawline. She scanned through his profile. Age: 23, just like her. Got his bachelor’s in engineering, but got his Ph.D. in computer science - and by 17? She got her Ph.D. at 17 as well - her first one, anyways. Dreams of having a pet monkey. Likes to spend time with his friends at the pub. Hobbies include building miniature robotics and keeping up with the latest developments in science and technology.

Jemma clicked on the tiny envelope icon below his picture.

_Hi Leopold! I’ve looked through your profile, and I think we might get on. Maybe we could meet for dinner this weekend? - Jemma_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and Jemma finally meet face to face.

“Oh my God. Shit. _Shit_.” Fitz slouched in his seat and hid his face behind his hand. “What is she doing here?”

Bobbi craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the petite brunette who had just walked through the pub’s front door. “She must be here for your date.”

Fitz sunk further into his seat. “My _what_?”

Mack shook his head, looking down at his beer before looking back up at Hunter with a pained expression. “Dude, you forgot to tell him?”

“Tell me what?” Fitz demanded, eyes darting back and forth between Mack and Hunter and Simmons.

“Huh. I guess I did forget to tell him,” Hunter mused. “I thought his outfit was a bit casual.” He scratched behind his ear. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Hunter, I swear to God, if you don’t tell me _right now_ -”

“Well, when it became clear that you weren’t going to respond to the poor bird’s message, I took the liberty of setting up your date for you,” Hunter explained.

Fitz’s eyes widened, as though he could see the bright lights of an approaching car and was powerless to move. “For tonight?” he hissed.

“For tonight.” Hunter confirmed.

“ _Here_? The date’s _here_? _Now_?” Fitz asked frantically.

“Drinks here first,” Hunter confirmed. “That way we can make sure you don’t back out. Then dinner at La Cucina.”

“Aw, La Cucina!” Bobbi crooned. “I love that place!” She leaned over the table to look at Fitz, who at this point was almost completely under the table. “I highly recommend the linguine with vodka sauce.”

“I’m not dressed for La Cucina!” Fitz complained. “I’m wearing jeans and trainers!” Not to mention that he had an ink stain on his shirt and he didn’t have time to shave this morning and he was pretty sure there was a zit forming on his forehead, which wasn’t fair because wasn’t acne supposed to stop being a problem once he reached his twenties?

Mack nudged Fitz, practically pushing him out of the booth. “Come on, Turbo - she’s waiting.”

Fitz stumbled to his feet. He turned to look at his friends pleadingly. “Once she finds out that I’m the one she’s been e-mailing, she’s going to think I’m stalking her, or something.”

Bobbi raised an eyebrow. “Then you better go explain it to her.”

Fitz turned hesitantly, then slowly walked to the bar. He paused once he was next to her, pressing both hands into his back. “I, uh...Dr. Simmons?

Jemma turned, surprised, her brown waves swinging across her shoulders. She smiled brightly at him and held out her hand. “Leopold! I recognize you from your picture.”

Fitz was unable to suppress the half-second grimace that passed over his face before he took her hand.

“Not a fan of ‘Leopold’?” Jemma observed.

“Um, not really,” Fitz admitted. “I usually go by…” he faltered, not sure if he should spring the surprise on her so casually, without a chance to preface it. “Um, Leo. You can call me Leo.”

“Leo,” Jemma repeated, nodding. “You can call me Jemma.”

Fitz rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the ground. “Jemma. Look, I should tell you up front that I’m…”

“You’re Scottish!” Jemma exclaimed. “You have no idea how nice it is to meet another transplant. When did you move to the States?”

“I...uh…”

“Gin and tonic,” the bartender interrupted, sliding the glass towards Jemma.

Jemma nodded towards the bartender. “Did you want to order something as well, Leo?”

Fitz turned his wide-eyed stare towards the bartender. The bartender raised an eyebrow at him. “The usual?” he asked.

Fitz nodded, his mouth dry. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You have a ‘usual’,” Jemma observed. “Do you come here often?”

Fitz sat on the stool next to her. “Uh, yeah - I come here with my mates a lot.” His eyes widened. “I mean, not _a lot_. I’m not an alcoholic or anything. I just come for the company. I’m more of a social drinker, really-”

“And I’m sure you can stop anytime you want,” Jemma agreed, nodding sagely, the corners of her lips twitching as she took a long sip of her drink.

Fitz narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you...are you teasing me?”

Jemma smiled. “Just a little,” she admitted. She swiveled towards the bar and folded her arms on the counter. “I’ve always wanted a ‘usual’. I imagine it simplifies things a bit.”

Fitz shrugged. “I guess. But you have to be willing to stick to it - because once you have a ‘usual’, you can never order anything else.”

Jemma looked askance in thought. “I can do that,” she said decisively. She looked at Fitz and though her expression was serious, there’s a playfulness in her eyes that hadn’t come through in any of her pictures. “I’m pretty devoted to my gin and tonics.

“Brilliant.” As the bartender returned with a pint of beer, Fitz gestured towards Jemma and told him, “From now on, her usual is going to be a gin and tonic.”

The bartender rolled his eyes and walked away. “Usuals aren’t dictated. They’re earned.”

Fitz turned to Jemma, scratching the stubble on his jawline, embarrassed. “So much for that.”

Jemma barely heard him, her head turning as she watched a waitress walk by with two plastic basket trays lined with grease-stained newspaper and piled with food. “Are those fish and chips?”

“Huh?” Fitz followed her gaze. “Oh. Uh, yeah. It is.”

Jemma turned to him, her expression hopeful. “Are they any good?”

“Um, yeah.” Fitz scratched behind his ear. “Pretty good. Not as good as home, but close.” 

Jemma looked down at the counter, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “I know we’re supposed to go to La Cucina, but do you mind if we ate here instead?”

Fitz raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Of course. If that’s what you want.”

Jemma looked around the room. “It’s just that I like it here,” she explained. “And it’s been a tough week at work and I think I’d like to unwind a bit.”

“Honestly, Sim - Jemma. It’s not a problem at all,” Fitz assured her. He waved over the bartender. “Can we get two orders of fish and chips?”

Jemma pushed her empty glass towards the bartender. “And the usual for me, please.”

\----------------------

Talking to Jemma was surprisingly easy. They traded stories about work, about their experiences as pre-pubescent adolescents at uni, about their families. And the longer Fitz waited to tell her that he was actually the founder of More Than That, the more difficult it got to bring it up. He didn't want her to think that the only reason they were getting on was because of what he already knew about her.

Because he liked her. He really liked her. She was brilliant and warm and funny and friendly and just really, really pretty. Way prettier in person than in her pictures - even the beach pictures that she ended up taking down.

Also, competitive. Very, very competitive.

Jemma held up a palm in a gesture for Fitz to stop. “There’s no way-”

“Have you even seen-”

“Ugh, Leo, of course I’ve seen it - I just happen to think you’re wrong!”

“Okay, but look - Iron Shark has the impenetrable armour-”

“Which weighs him down and makes him a less agile swimmer!” Jemma argued. “Whereas Captain Sharkmerica has biological and physical advantages given to him from the super shark serum!”

“But Iron Shark can swim AND fly! How is Captain Sharkmerica going to beat him when he’s up in the sky?”

Jemma wrapped her hands behind her neck. “I don’t know, Leo! Maybe by jumping really high!”

Fitz raised an eyebrow. “Really? Jumping?”

Jemma held up a finger, clearly fighting the smile spreading across her face. “Don’t.”

“That’s your final answer?” Fitz asked teasingly.

Jemma crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. “I know I’m right, but clearly nothing I say is going to convince you.”

Fitz nodded knowingly. “I see how it is, Simmons. Quitting while you’re ahead.”

Jemma narrowed her eyes. “I’m not quitting. I just know a lost cause when I see one.” She hopped off her barstool. “Let’s play darts.”

“And now you’re retreating,” Fitz observed.

“I’m not retreating - I really want to play darts!” Jemma insisted.

“You’re retreating,” Fitz teased.

Jemma grabbed his wrist and pulled him off his stool. “It’s not retreating if I’m bringing you with me.”

\------------------------

It didn’t take long for Jemma to figure out that Leo was Dr. L. Fitz. She had read in an article a while back about the creator of More Than That - a young computer science professor at the local university, originally from Glasgow, mostly keeps to himself.

She probably should tell him that she knew it was him, but she couldn't tell him how she knew without admitting that she had done a bit of...research...on him. Maybe she could bring it up if he mentioned something that they had previously written about, but so far, every topic of conversation had been about something new and effortlessly segued into similarly inexhaustible areas of discussion. Despite already knowing quite a bit about Fitz, everything she was learning about him tonight was new, and Jemma thought he might be the most interesting person she’d ever met.

And it was adorable, really, that he made a profile after she asked whether he had one. It was sweet of him to do it despite his reservations - she could only assume that those reservations were the reason he hadn't brought it up yet. The question was, why had he been resistant to making a profile in the first place?

“So…” Jemma started, unsure of how to bring up the topic casually.

Fitz turned to face her, pint of beer in his hand. “Yes?”

Jemma tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m surprised we didn’t get matched up sooner.”

Fitz rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I...I just made my profile two days ago.”

“Was there...was there someone else in the picture?” Jemma winced. Subtlety was clearly not her strength.

Fitz barked out a laugh. “Definitely not.”

“Were you resistant to the idea of online dating?” Jemma asked.

“Uh, not exactly.” Fitz looked down at his shoes. “Jemma, look, I should tell you -”

Just then, Fitz lurched forward. His beer sloshed out of his cup and Jemma felt it splash onto her chest and trickle down her dress.

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” a deep voice bellowed behind Fitz. “You okay?”

Fitz was too busy staring at Jemma in abject horror to answer him.

Jemma looked down at herself and at her now-sheer dress that clearly showed her bra underneath. She squeezed her eyes shut in mortification and brought the heel of her hand up to her forehead. “Um, bathroom.” She opened her eyes to look at Fitz. “I’m just going to...um…” She pointed towards the dark hallway behind Fitz. “I’m just going to clean myself up.” She calmly walked past Fitz, wishing that the cosmos would be so kind as to open a chasm in the earth to benevolently swallow her up. 

\-----------

Fitz was waiting for her when she exited the bathroom.

“Sorry!” he blurted, as soon as their eyes met. He brought up a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. That was the word I was looking for earlier, when my brain short-circuited.”

“It’s quite alright,” Jemma assured him. “It was an accident.”

Fitz nodded enthusiastically. “It was! It really was! An accident, I mean.”

Jemma smiled sadly at him. “If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to...you know.” She gestured towards her dress. “Call it a night.”

Fitz’s eyes widened. “Yeah! Of course!” He followed her as she walked down the hall. “Do you want me to call you a cab?”

“I live in walking distance.”

“Can I walk you home?” Fitz asked, his voice desperate.

Jemma turned to face him. “You don’t mind?” she asked uncertainly.

Fitz looked into her eyes intently. “I want to. Please.”

Jemma looked down at the ground, then back up at him with a small smile. “Yes. I’d like that.”

Fitz exhaled heavily, smiling in relief. “Great.” He raised his eyebrows, as though a thought just occurred to him. “Oh! Um…” He shrugged out of his cardigan and offered it to her.

Jemma smiled at him appreciatively. “Thanks.”

The entirety of the walk home consisted of Fitz apologizing repeatedly and Jemma assuring him that it really was okay and she didn’t blame him at all.

“I really am sorry, you know,” Fitz repeated once they reached her apartment complex.

Jemma whirled to face him. “Ugh, stop! Please! Just...” She reached out and held on to his arms, resisting the urge to shake some sense into him. “Just stop apologizing.” She dropped her arms to her side. “Don’t let _this_ ,” she gestured to her soggy outfit. “Don’t let it ruin our evening. Okay? I had a good time.”

Fitz looked down at her, hope blooming on his face. “You did?

Jemma nodded. “Yeah.” She smiled at him. “I did.” She took a step closer to him. “I was right, you know.”

Fitz furrowed his brow in confusion. “About what?”

Jemma smiled shyly. “We do get on.” She tilted her chin up expectantly.

Fitz’s eyes flickered over her face. He cleared his throat. “Um. Well. Good night, Jemma.”

It took Jemma a moment to realize that he was holding out his fist.

Jemma tried to hold in her sigh of disappointment as she bumped her fist into his. “Good night, Leo.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and Jemma clear the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it!

“A good night _fist bump_?!” Bobbi slapped the back of Fitz’s head. “You’re even more of an idiot than Hunter, and trust me, that is a high hurdle to jump.”

“Hey!” Hunter protested.

Fitz rubbed the back of his head. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Bobbi rolled her eyes. “She clearly wanted you to kiss her goodnight.”

Fitz shook his head. “There’s no way. I looked like a mess and we argued the whole night-”

“Flirted,” Hunter corrected. “You flirted the whole night.”

Fitz ignored him. “And to top it all off, I spilled my beer all over her and ruined her dress! And! She sent an e-mail to me that night!”

“That’s good!” Hunter exclaimed, clapping his palm onto Fitz’s shoulder. “It probably means that she wants to see you again!”

Fitz shook his head. “No, not potential date me. Matchmaker me. And she only ever e-mails to complain about her horrendous dates.” He covered his face with his hands. “I don’t even want to think about what she wrote about me in that e-mail,” he groaned, his voice muffled.

Bobbi narrowed her eyes at him. “You mean you haven’t read it yet? It’s been three days!”

“I can’t!” Fitz dragged his hands down his face. “I already feel bad enough about last night - it’s just going to make me feel worse!”

Bobbi held out her hand and made a beckoning motion with her fingers. “Hand over your phone. I’ll read it for you.”

Fitz’s hand flew protectively to his pocket. “What? No! Why would I let you do that?”

“Because otherwise, this e-mail is going to be your very own Skinner’s dog,” Bobbi explained.

Fitz frowned. “Skinner had rats. Pavlov had the dog.”

Bobbi’s brow furrowed. “Then it’ll be your Pavlov’s dog.”

“What does this have to do with conditioning?” Hunter asked.

Bobbi snapped her fingers. “No, wait - it was a cat - because until you look, the cat is both alive and dead? And until you read your e-mail, your date was both wonderful and terrible.”

“You mean Shrodinger’s cat?” Fitz asked incredulously.

Bobbi shook her head. “You’re missing the…” She huffed in frustration. “My point is, let me read the e-mail. If it’s bad, I just delete it, no harm, no foul. And if it’s good, I’ll let you know it’s safe to read.”

“And then you can ask her out on another date,” Hunter added.

“And then you ask her out on another date,” Bobbi agreed.

Fitz rolled his eyes and pushed his phone across the table to Bobbi. “Fine. Have at it.”

Bobbi gleefully picked up his phone and tapped at the screen. She was silent for a long moment, a grin slowly spreading across her face. She looked up at Fitz and slid the phone back towards him. “Definitely safe to read.”

Fitz furrowed his brow in disbelief. “Really?”

\-------------------

Dear Fitz,

I am writing to inform you that tonight I went on a successful date with my most recent match, Leopold (last name unknown). He was kind and funny and handsome and endearingly awkward and very, very clever. The evening ended earlier than I would have liked due to unforeseen circumstances, but I had a lovely time with him all the same.

I’ve greatly appreciated our correspondence over these past few months. I really must thank you for all the extra time you put into helping me - it was clearly very effective. Leopold and I were well-matched on almost every level: in interests, in intellect, in temperament...I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to seeing him again.

If all works out, you’ll be able to boast a 100% success rate, and if you do, please know that it has as much to do with who you are as it does with your algorithm. You truly have been extraordinary this whole time.

Best wishes,

Jemma

\--------------------

“This is terrible,” Fitz breathed out. He looked up at Bobbi and Hunter, eyes wide and panicked. “What am I going to do?”

Hunter squinted at him. “Take her on a second date?” he guessed.

Fitz ran his hand through his hair and slumped back in his seat. “She’s going to think that the only reason I created my profile and went out with her was because I wanted to have a 100% success rate!”

Bobbi nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. “Huh. That’s interesting.” She turned to Hunter and nodded towards Fitz. “Did you know that Fitz is psychic? Because he can apparently read minds now.”

“This isn’t funny, Bobbi!” Fitz insisted. “I really like her!”

Bobbi’s eyes flickered towards the entrance of the pub and she smiled. She elbowed Hunter in the ribs, trying to urge him out of the booth. “Do you like wings? I feel like wings. Let’s order some wings, Hunter.”

Hunter looked at her, confusion wrinkling his features. “Is it really a two person job?”

Bobbi glared at him as though she was trying to telepathically communicate with him. Hunter just shook his head. Bobbi rolled her eyes and scoffed, nodding towards the door.

Hunter turned to look. “Oh! That’s...a great idea!” He turned back to look at Bobbi. “Wings are a great idea. Let’s go.”

Fitz’s eyes widened as he watched them leave. “What is going on?”

A moment later, Jemma plopped into the seat across from him, setting a large paper bag on the table. “Hi Leo!” she greeted him with a wide smile, her perky ponytail swinging behind her head.

Fitz straightened in his seat. “Jemma! What are you…” His voice faltered as he scanned the room for a distraction or escape route. “What are you doing here?”

Jemma folded her arms on the table. “Well, you said you come here a lot so I figured I’d find you here, and it occurred to me that I never returned your cardigan, so…” She unfolded the lip of the paper bag and pulled out his cardigan. “I brought it back for you. Freshly washed and dried, of course.”

Fitz accepted it from her. “Thanks.” He looked down at it, turning it over in his hands. “It feels...fluffier than usual?”

“Does it?” Jemma’s nose wrinkled, her freckles converging on its bridge. “It might have been the fabric softener.”

“Oh! You mean people actually use that stuff?”

Jemma let out that half-amused, half-exasperated sigh that Fitz had grown very fond over the course of their date. She reached into the paper bag again and pulled out a lavender bakery box. “I also passed by a bakery on the way here.” She smiled at him. “Since our evening got cut short and you wouldn’t let me pay my half of the bill for dinner and drinks, I thought I’d take care of dessert.”

A fresh wave of guilt washed over Fitz. Here in front of him was this wonderful, brilliant, beautiful woman who fluffed his sweater and brought him sweets despite the fact that he spent their whole date generally being a human disaster, and he’s still lying to her. He was a horrible, terrible, no-good man.

“Fitz!” he blurted, before he could stop himself. “Everyone calls me Fitz because that’s my last name and I’m the one you’ve been e-mailing and I should have told you last night that it was me but I didn’t want you to think that I rigged our compatibility scores and then we were getting on so well and I was going to tell you, I really was, but then I spilled my beer all over you and I figured there wasn’t really a point because I mucked it all up anyways and I...I guess I’m trying to say that I...I’m...sorry,” Fitz finished lamely. He really was very relieved that she didn’t have a drink in her hand right now because there was probably a 78% chance of that drink being thrown in his face.

Fitz searched Jemma’s face for shock or anger or consternation, but her expression was unreadable. Jemma’s face scrunched like a drawstring being pulled taut. “I know,” she admitted. “I knew. How did you think I knew to get these?” She turned the bakery box around to face him so he could see the Sky High Cupcakes logo stamped on the top.

It took a few moments for her words to register in Fitz’s brain. “You knew?” he repeated.

“Not right away,” Jemma clarified. “But yeah, I figured it out halfway through our date.”

Fitz shook his head, trying to clear the many irrelevant questions buzzing in his head so he could land on the most pressing one. “How?”

Jemma shrugged. “I think it was maybe six weeks into our correspondence? I liked talking to you and I wanted to know more about you, so I…” She paused as a pink flush worked its way across her cheeks. “I Googled you.”

Fitz just stared at her for a long moment. “I...um...and what did you find out?”

Jemma looked down at the table, tracing the wooden grain with her fingertip. “Not much. I learned you were young. Scottish. A computer science professor at the university here. There’s not too many people here who fit that bill.” She looked up at him shyly. “I was glad that it was you.”

Fitz scratched the back of his head and gave her a bashful smile. “Me too.” His smile became determinedly less bashful as he leaned back in his seat and said off-handedly, “I’m relieved, really. All this time, I was worried you would mistake me for a stalker, when it turns out that you were the one stalking me!”

Jemma’s jaw dropped. “Typing your name into Google and clicking on the first two results is hardly stalking!”

Fitz grinned. “But what about the shrine you’ve devoted to me in your closet?”

Jemma narrowed her eyes at him as she pulled the cardboard box back towards her, trying and failing to maintain a scowl on her face. “Well, that’s it. No cupcakes for you.” She pried open the top flap of the box and pulled out a cupcake.

Fitz leaned forward. “Is that chocolate peanut butter cup?”

“Yup!” Jemma started to slowly peel back the cupcake liner. “It’s not my favorite, but I’m sure it’ll be tolerable once I get rid of all this icky frosting.”

“I take it back!” Fitz yelped, reaching forward to grab her wrist. “I take it all back! I’ll be good from now on!”

Jemma laughed as she handed over his cupcake.

Fitz’s smile widened as he took his first bite. “You remembered my favorite.”

Jemma pulled her own cupcake out of the box. “Of course.” She peeled the cupcake liner off her own cupcake and flipped her cupcake upside down into the paper cup, using it to scrape off her frosting. She held it out to him. “Want my frosting?”

“Hey!” the bartender called over to them from the counter. “If you’re going to bring in outside food, you need to order something from here too, you know.”

Jemma twisted around in her seat and kneeled in the booth so she could lean forward against its back. “Sorry, Creel!” she called back. “I’ll take my usual!”

\-------------------

On their second date, Fitz wore grey dress slacks and a clean shirt and took Jemma to La Cucina, where they shared a bottle of wine and a plate of tiramisu. They sky was clear and the evening was warm despite the prior evening’s rain, so they agreed to take a walk along the promenade. They did not get very far before a car drove through a large puddle and splattered them both with mud, cutting the evening short. On the walk home, Fitz, again, was very apologetic, and Jemma, again, pointed out that he did nothing wrong. When they reached Jemma’s building, Fitz asked if he could take Jemma out again, and upon her response in the affirmative, bid her goodnight with an awkward side-hug (much to Jemma’s dismay).

On their third date, Fitz brought a poncho for Jemma “just in case” (which she did not wear, though she appreciated the gesture). They went to see Captain Sharkmerica: Civil War, shared a bucket of buttered popcorn (Fitz showed Jemma his trick of inserting straws halfway into the bucket before pouring butter through it to ensure proper butter distribution), and spent the whole walk home bickering and holding hands. When they reached Jemma’s flat, she let go of his hand to rifle through her purse for her keys. Just when Fitz was starting to think that her purse must be especially cavernous if her keys had gotten lost in there, he heard his phone let out a soft ping.

“Was that your phone?” Jemma asked innocently.

“Just an e-mail,” Fitz assured her. “I’ll check it when I get home.”

“Maybe you should check it now,” Jemma suggested, smiling mischievously. “It might be urgent.”

Fitz narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion as he dug his phone out of his pocket.

Dear Dr. L. Fitz,

I unfortunately must inform you that although my most recent match, Dr. Leopold Fitz, is exceedingly clever and handsome, he is seemingly incapable of recognizing when a woman would like him to kiss her. All evidence suggests that he fancies me as much as I fancy him (and I fancy him quite a lot), but thus far, all signs of affection have been limited to fist-bumps and side-hugs.

From our previous correspondence, I know that you care very deeply about customer satisfaction. Would you kindly take action to rectify this unfortunate situation?

Regards,

Dr. Jemma Simmons

A slow smile spread across Fitz’s face as he read Jemma’s e-mail. After tucking his phone in his pocket, he took Jemma’s hand and pulled her gently towards him, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. “How’s that?” he asked.

Jemma’s face scrunched adorably. “Not even close,” she pouted.

Fitz leant down and kissed her cheek. “How about that?”

“Better,” Jemma smiled. “But still not quite what I had in mind.”

Fitz reached forward to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her cheek before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“You’re fired,” Jemma informed him, taking a step back. “Worst matchmaker in the history of the world.” She turned to walk to her door.

Fitz laughed as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him again, turning her to face him so that he could press his lips to hers. Jemma responded immediately, moving her lips against his and hooking her free arm around his neck. Fitz let go of her wrist so that he could wrap one arm around her lower back and the other under her shoulder blades, pulling her more tightly against him.

And as Fitz kissed Jemma under the glow of the streetlight and blanket of night stars, he was very glad indeed that not only was Jemma now a very satisfied customer, she was also, most decidedly, more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to read another fic involving a dating website called "More Than That", check out notapepper's stellar [ A Few Tricks Up My Sleeve!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3581184/chapters/7895118)


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